


Together

by MonikaFileFan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, IWTB Movie, Jealousy, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikaFileFan/pseuds/MonikaFileFan
Summary: Scully battles the green-eyed monster in the unremarkable house. Protectiveness and something akin to territoriality swells within her, but she ends up receiving a “little something” from Mulder in return.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 26
Kudos: 193
Collections: X-Files Secret Santa Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atths2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atths2/gifts).



> Prompt: Scully is jealous of Agent Whitney and she confronts Mulder at their home. Open for anything really, but would love to read a smutty ending. Or smutty anything.
> 
> Petra, I loved your prompt so much. I had fun writing it and hope this is what you were looking for! 
> 
> Notes: SAC stands for “Special Agent in Charge” which is what Special Agent Whitney was labeled as in the movie. Certain dialogue is from the IWTB script. I took a few liberties in specific areas as well.  
> This scene takes place at the start of Mulder and Scully in laying in bed together and extends past when Agent Whitney called for Mulder to meet them at the crime scene.
> 
> Thanks to Laia for the beta!

_____

_Glug, glug._

Scully sighs, lashes fluttering along the navy cotton pillow case. Her mind scrolls through an array of worrisome thoughts like a Rolodex: Mulder’s freedom held within reach from the government’s hand; a missing FBI agent; a SAC with Mulder-shaped hearts in her eyes; the cruelty of childhood illness; and the lingering ache of a little boy lost with her nose and Mulder’s eyes growing up in this world without them...

_Glug, glug, glug._

The fish tank illuminating a blue glow in the hallway mimics her unrest. She nuzzles her face into the soft sheets, wishing her eyes were as heavy as her heart. 

Next to her, Mulder taps her hip. “I can feel you thinking.”

She knows he can. “I’m sorry, can’t sleep.”

His strong arms and muscular thigh wrap around her, enveloping her with warmth and comfort only he can provide. “Actually, I have a little something for that,” he rasps in her ear. 

She shivers, knowing that to be a truth undeniable. “Just a little something?”

“Thank you,” he grins with a roll of his hips. “What’s the matter?”

She blinks up at the ceiling, choosing the freshest of her mind’s wounds to expose to him. The one still weeping the way she did in her office just hours ago. “I have a patient: a young boy with a rare brain disease, and he’s very, very sick.” 

He pulls her closer, and she’s lulled by the steady beat of his heart. “Why haven’t you told me about this before?”

 _Why_ , indeed. There is no otherworldly cure for this particular death sentence. No magic chip for Sandhoff disease. She shakes her head, “I thought there was something I could do.” 

“There’s not?” 

She knows what he’s doing, what he’s trying to get her to do. Opening up and shedding her sorrow for him to wear for her is an act she seldom does. She looks up at him, her heart beating in time with his, her love for him endless. 

“Well, there’s radical treatments but nobody wants to talk about those. Even the experts say there’s nothing to be done,” she huffs. Doctor Ybarra’s insistence at watching a child die in the name of the Lord without utilizing all science has to offer infuriates her. “Nothing but let him die. So I’m lying here, cursing God for all his cruelties.”

“And you think God is losing any sleep?” he wonders, and she does the same.

“Why bring a kid into the world just to make him suffer?” she sighs, her thoughts drifting to the miracle child of their own. “I don’t know, Mulder, I’ve got such a connection to this boy.”

He hums at her temple and she knows what’s coming next. “How old is he?”

Their eyes meet, and a flicker of their shared pain flashes within his hazel gaze. She won’t hide her own this time. “You think it’s because of William.”

She feels his heart begin to race against their flushed bodies. She refuses to look away. “I think our son left us both with an emptiness that can’t be filled,” he admits, his warm lips brushing her cheek, and she twines her fingers with his. “Just go to sleep. Let me curse God for a while.”

“Thank you,” she exhales, feeling both relieved and guilty at his ability to absorb the weight of the world. Before she can wrap her arms around his neck, strip him bare, and pull him between her thighs, he kisses her, scraping her face with his wiry beard. “Scratchy beard,” she laughs. 

And just like that, her constant in life gives her hope once again. 

Her eyes flutter shut and Mulder gives her hand a parting squeeze before rolling back onto his side of the bed. 

They lay in comfortable silence, their breathing more in sync than before, when she remembers. “Oh! There was something weird on that toxicology report of the severed arm.”

“Hm?” he grunts. She feels him perk up behind her as she continues to explain her findings on the animal tranquilizer found in the victim's blood stream, the pendulum of duality in their relationship swinging back towards work related topics with ease. “Now I can’t sleep,” he says as he climbs out of bed and flicks on the light of their en-suite bathroom. 

“Mulder?” She follows him. Of course she does, her silky lavender pajamas billowing around her slender frame. They banter back and forth about the case as she watches him paint his brown beard white with shaving cream. He’s shaving for her, she realizes. A satisfied smile pulls at her lips. 

Her phone rings where she left it in the hallway. Where she chooses to leave her work outside the sanctity of their bedroom at night. 

“Hello?”

_“Hello... Dr. Scully?”_

“Yes,” she says, feeling Mulder’s footfalls vibrate through the wooden floor beneath her bare feet. 

_“I’m sorry to call at this hour,”_ SAC Whitney responds. 

Scully arches a brow, nails biting into the hard plastic of the cell phone when it dawns on her that this must have been the number Mulder had given her to call him on. Special Agent Dakota Whitney did not call to speak to her. 

“Has there been a break,” Scully asks tersely.

“They find her?” Mulder interrupts. Scully silences him with her fingers pressed to his bronze skin as she listens, her eyes honing in on the glob of shaving cream resting along the curve of his chest. 

_“We’re persuing another lead,”_ the agent’s smooth voice drifts through the line. 

“The same source?” Scully’s hand continues to rest along her partner’s solid torso as she speaks. It’s not lost on her that she’s cementing a claim she has established decades before now to herself and the man who loves her, only not to the woman she wants to witness it. 

_“The same source. New news,”_ Whitney confirms. _“I- we need Fox’s incites at the barn. Same crime scene.”_ Before Scully has a chance to quiz her further, the line goes dead. 

_Fox,_ she thinks, scoffs, while she sets the phone back on the end table. Her fingers fall away from Mulder’s chest as he turns to disappear back into their bedroom. _Fox..._

_Glug, glug, glug._

Even mollies in the tank mock her. 

She runs her tongue over her teeth, purses her lips. “You’re leaving?”

“I heard her,” Mulder runs his fingers through his floppy hair. “She needs my help. Wonder what our omniscient priest has to say now.”

“Ex-priest,” she corrects, “And he’s not _our_ anything.”

He shakes his head. “Scully.”

She eyes him from the doorway, mind wandering to SAC Whitney and her wide eyes and the tell-tale swirl of lust within them. Scully knows that look well. Though she hates that Mulder’s been isolated from the world where no one but her can see his beautiful mind working in overdrive, she secretly savors their private isolation because, selfishly, she gets him all to herself. The Dakota Whitney’s of the world have been starved of her mature Fox Mulder. _And yes_ , Scully admits with a prickle of guilt, _she has savored that._

Protectiveness and something akin to territoriality swells within her as she watches him flit about their bedroom. He pulls out a black turtleneck sweater and dark, well-worn jeans - her favorite - tossing them on her side of the bed. His muscles ripple beneath his bare skin in the moonlight, tawny and taut with bulk. Then something _else_ swells within her. She squirms, watching the knot on his pajama bottoms loosen as he moves towards the bathroom.

“You plan to finish the job?” she wonders, tilting her chin toward the white patches of shaving cream dappled along his jaw.

He smirks. “You gonna hold it against me if I don’t?”

“Yes,” she says, reasserting herself in his space. He playfully gives her a lover's leer, expecting one in return, but she looks at him like a wife, instead, reaching up to palm his sternum. His hammering heart beneath her fingers brings her comfort only a once widowed woman, womb heavy with his miracle child can truly appreciate. She won’t lose him again - physically or mentally. 

His hand covers hers before bringing her fingertips up to his mouth, kissing each digit with care. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs as he turns around and grabs the razor again, gradually exposing the beautiful man beneath the beard. 

Scully thinks of how a group of agents had pulled out a manilla folder from a forgotten filing cabinet labeled, “Mulder, Fox W.” She’d be shocked if his name weren’t punctuated with a scarlet _X_. She thinks of SAC Whitney dissecting the perceived contents of his character written within it. Then, she thinks with a flare of ardor, of how the bold woman behind the badge would’ve gazed admiringly at the photo of the handsome man inside. Unbidden, her mind rewinds to the past, back to another brazen brunette. To a different kind of cleavage and ambition.

A possessive fever burns between her thighs.

Her breath quickens as she watches him glancing at her through the mirror: her mercurial Mulder, emotionally bruised and beautiful, and she’s afraid. Even after she was the one to ask him to get involved, she’s afraid for him to stay that way. To run headstrong into the abyss with him again and expect them to come out unscathed. 

Their scars of the past already cut bone deep.

He blinks, and she can see it in his eyes: searching for this missing woman is like a drop of water to a man dying of thirst. 

“I meant what I said before you decided to take this case, Mulder.” She hates that he does this to her: bends her to his will. Molds her pliant and submissive with a simple stare. Hates it and loves it all the same. “I worry about you,” she admits, shrugging out of her silk, purple nightshirt, leaving only a thin tank top to separate her breasts from his heated gaze. 

“Don’t worry about me, Doc.”

Oh, but she does. Always.

Without thought, she pads her way up behind him, wrapping her arms around his sinewy waist, hugging him with her nose buried into the dip of his spine. “I don’t like the way she looks at you,” she blurts.

Mulder pauses, the razor blade frozen along the curve of his cheek. “Mm, I wondered.”

“No,” she scoffs. “You knew.”

From behind, Scully runs her hand down his torso and skims a knuckle along the drawstring of his pajama pants, her manicured nail scraping through the thatch of course hair below his chiseled abs. The robust bulge of him beneath the cotton springs to life against her hand. 

“Scully…” he warns. 

She smirks and peaks around his shoulder, watching him gulp.

“I know that look, but-”

“-Mulder.” Her hand dips down finding his cock already pulsing and hot between them. She wraps her petite fingers around it, squeezing lightly with a surge of satisfaction that she still stimulates his body as quickly as she does his mind. “You’re hard,” she notes, as if he doesn’t know. “But you’re right, she needs you.”

Scully instantly releases her grasp around his shaft and withdraws her hand with a petty snap of his elastic pants.

“Jesus,” he hisses, nicking his cheek with the sharp blade. Grabbing her wrist before she can flee, Mulder pulls her flush against his chest. His grasp is gentle yet firm as he stares down at her with a dilated gaze - those subterranean pooles of lust that she can easily drown in. “But, _I_ need _you_.” 

Of course he does. But Scully needs something, too.

“I do worry, Mulder,” she murmurs, unknotting the bow poised above his pelvis with the hand not held within Mulder’s grip. He kisses her palm and uncurls his fingers from around her fine-boned wrist, releasing her so she can touch him the way she wants. “I always will.”

Their eyes lock as she pushes his bottoms down to his ankles. His lashes flutter, and Scully doesn’t have to look down to know his long shaft thrumming with arousal is at full mast now, ready and impatiently waiting. Her clit throbs while her hands trail down the curves of his abdomen to bracket his hips. 

“Scully,” Mulder gasps, the razor falling into the sink with a clink. Their eyes still dancing, she drops to her knees against the tiled floor, devouring his cock with one desperate mouthful, swirling her tongue around its crown. “Sh _iiiit,_ ” he sobs as she teases his leaking slit, kissing the underside of his velvety shaft. 

“Mm…” Scully hums, a feeling of power washing over her as she sucks him deep into the back of her throat. 

Mulder’s hands are suddenly sliding under her arms, yanking her to her feet, breaking the suction around the flared head of him with an echoing pop. Scully frowns in disappointment. She wants to make him come with the same mouth she’d scowled at Agent Whitney with. But his cock is rock hard and dripping, bobbing heavily between them, and now she wants something more.

“Christ, you tryin’ to kill me?” he groans and kisses her cheek, her chin as he licks his way up, dragging saliva and the brine of him to her lips. 

“Not tonight,” she jests, already missing the weight of him on her tongue. “But,” she adds tersely, “I can’t speak for Agent Whitney.”

“She may look, Scully, but you think I look back?” he husks in her ear, nipping at the flesh of her lobe. “You think I look at anyone but you?”

Mulder spins her around, swiftly yanking down her bottoms, and pins the front of her thighs against the cold sink with his body before she can answer. 

_Yes,_ she thinks. _This!_

“Look,” he tells her from behind. She can’t help but obey. His slender fingers graze tenderly along the column of her throat, thumb tipping up her chin. She can see the love and lust-filled craze of her Mulder staring at her through the water-spotted mirror. The look on his face further ignites the flame burning deep in her belly. “See how I look at you.”

He wants her to watch. 

“Muld-” His hands delve between her knees, spreading them with practiced ease. “Oh,” And she’s all too happy to help, slapping her hands against lights that frame the mirror to brace herself for what comes next.

He slides his fingers up the tender skin of her inner thighs, giving her aching clit a quick tap with the pad of a fingertip, then glides three fingers through her folds, dipping them into her. _“Oh!”_

“Yeah,” he agrees. She’s hot and slippery, thick with want. He pushes his fingers smoothly into her, until he’s two knuckles deep and curling up against that perfect spot, smirking against her skin. He presses his lips to her temple and starts pumping his long fingers into her, matching the same wild tempo as her racing heart. 

Scully can’t suppress the whine that escapes her mouth. Mulder and his talented hands are fingerfucking the breath from her chest, and, _oh God,_ she wants this. Wants him to fuck her with the same level of intensity he utilizes to sift through lies to find the truth. She wants _him,_ always. He is hers like she is his and she intends to reclaim him in a new way every single day if she has to. Even if it hurts.

“Mulder…”

“There’s no one but you,” he vows, and Scully believes. In her heart, she always has.

“Yes,” she purrs, eyes stinging with emotion. _“Yes,”_ the words float out of her, lofting through the air like the steam coating the bathroom mirror. “Like that.”

“Mm, there it is.” Mulder slides her shirt up over her bare breasts and they both watch through the mirror in awe as they sway in time with the thrusts of his hand rocking along her perineum. Lewd sounds of her sleek sex fill the silence between their heavy breathing, and Scully’s legs begin to tremble. 

She wants to tell him she needs all of him. Not just his body but his mind, too. Wants to turn around, fall to her knees, and finish what she started. But the tip of his cock is sliding up her slit, nudging at her entrance while his fingertips circle her clit, and she gives up any attempt at coherency.

Scully responds with a sharp inhale and a salacious roll of her hips, reaching back to drag her fingernails across each of his tight ass cheeks, begging him with her body to reclaim her, too. 

“That’s right,” he boasts. “You’re gonna come right here. Look at you, you’re so beautiful when you come for me, Scully.” He sucks on the tender spot behind her ear, and she does. She comes in an exhale, a swift and powerful wave of euphoria washing over her limbs. 

But it’s not enough, not yet.

“Yes, Scully, only you,” Mulder growls, and plunges the fat head of his cock into her, the collision of their bodies rippling through her spine. It’s rough and hard and fervent with passion. She loves it; loves him. “Say it.”

“Only you,” she gasps back, jostling within his tight grasp. His strong arms hold her in place as he pounds into her, her forehead jutting out with every thrust just inches from the glass. “Please…”

He’s grinding his girth into her fluttery walls, heavy balls hot against her ass. She unfurls for him and lets herself be fucked, lets him fill her up until she feels him burrowing deeper and deeper into her gut, her lungs. Into her heart. 

“God…” His shaft cleaves through her folds, stretching her with perfection. “Oh, my God,” she cries.

“Yes,” Mulder grunts as his soft, velvet steel plunges through her hard and fast. His hips snap as her clit rocks along the ceramic edge. Her legs shake before her mind can even process that she’s coming again; hard, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The aftershocks leave her tingling like a live wire from her arched neck to her curling toes. 

“Mulder…” she pleads, and she knows he understands what she needs next. He kisses the blades of her back and pulls out of her, the stretching fullness of him gone. 

Bereft, Scully whimpers as he clutches her hip bones, spinning her around. It’s her turn to take control. Usually, she wants to attack his smartass mouth before sucking one big, beautiful lip between her teeth and fuck him raw. But suddenly, as he kisses her with such aching tenderness, all she wants to do is straddle his hips and make him come while she reminds him that no one can ever love him the way that she does. 

Scully hops up and slings her knees around his hips, fists now full of Mulder’s sex-tousled hair. He moans against her throat as he carries her to the edge of bed. The mattress squeaks when his naked ass cradles them both along their brand new purple comforter. The last one had been well-loved and defiled enough.

“Guess it’s time we christen this one,” Mulder mumbles against her nipple. His voice is rough, betraying how tortuously close he is to nose-diving over the edge. She tsks and sinks down in his lap, readjusting to the near impossible size of him. But she blooms like a flower around the thick of him, just like she always does.

Even as she rocks against him, slowly and sultrily, she can sense his eyes flicking to the clock across the room. Scully cups his face, scraping a nail across the bleeding cut on his cheek. His eyes soften, refocusing that urge to seek and find back on her. 

While she sways above him, she reminds herself that he needs her on this case with him, exactly like he’d told her. Not only as a life partner, but as his partner in all things. Her strict rationalism and science have saved him a thousand times over, she reminds herself, his thumbs flicking across her pert nipples. She has made him a whole person. She is his touchstone when his impulsive ways wreak havoc on their stasis. She is his other half and he is hers; and everytime she kisses him, he tastes like her and her alone. 

_Hers_. 

“Mine,” she tells him, finger combing his hair. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he confirms with a fervid pump of his hips. It’s a promise, a prayer, as her cross bounces between her breasts like a benediction.

Mulder’s skin is soft and firm, and so very warm. She presses her lips against it in silent hope of salving just one deep-seated bruise beneath all the burly muscle and bone. This body of his gives her support and solace and pleasure. So much pleasure as she rides him into back-arching ecstasy. 

This body is hers. 

He groans, cock plunging, hands roaming, and she knows her body gives him the same in return. 

“Yes, Scully, that’s it,” he breathes against her parted lips. “There’s nothing in this world that I can say that explains how I feel about you, but you have to know I’m _so_ in love with you.” 

That does it. “Mul-” she keens, dips her tongue into his mouth. And Mulder comes, spilling into her with an ardent growl she can feel rumble through her rib cage. “Mulder,” her eyes roll as she sinks deeper and deeper into pleasure, into the sweet oblivion of orgasm.

Moments later, when the room stops spinning, Mulder’s lips peck at hers where her head is lulling along his dewy shoulder. He brushes her hair away from her sweaty forehead and grins against her mouth. “Fuck, Scully.”

“You certainly did,” she praises, but not even mind-numbing orgasms can quell the knot of concern coiling in her belly. He’s right, no words can ever express how intensely she loves him. But maybe, her fear of the darkness that threatens to consume them can. 

Within this unremarkable house and unremarkable room, they share a life together - a home now. _Yes_ , Scully muses as she kisses his smooth jaw, _that’s pretty damn remarkable._

He sighs into her hair. “Trust me, I enjoyed it, too. But…” 

And their pendulum swings again. 

“You’ve got to go,” she finishes, dismounting his lap with a hiss. She’ll feel the remnants of their vehement lovemaking for hours. Much like he will feel the sting of her nails well beneath the surface of his skin. 

As he dresses in front of her, she hopes the freshly-fucked flush of Mulder’s cheeks glows under the moonlit crime scene. She hopes he bares evidence of her presence on his body, in his eyes, for all to see. 

“A missing woman,” he says in apology. 

_Another one,_ Scully thinks. _Only not the one he truly yearns to find, and never will._

Mulder glances at the clock before kissing her nose, her forehead. It’s penance for his burgeoning paranormal tunnel vision. And instantly she remembers what it feels like when shadows of the truth creep in, looming like spiders in hidden corners of their minds. 

The foreboding sensation is as suffocating as the ice cold wind of winter. As heavy as the silent burdens they carry.

“Together, Scully.” Mulder extends his hand out for her, hopeful she’ll take it. 

“I know,” she says as she stands and holds his large hand within hers. And she does, she always has. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> In the movie, the next scene after this is timestamped at 3 hours later! So 3 hours had passed since the phone call with Agent Whitney and when they showed up at the scene! 
> 
> I ended up adjusting a couple things in general and regarding the phone call from the movie to better fit the prompt. If you caught how I tied in the cut on Mulder’s cheek to the next scene when SAC Whitney reaches up to touch it in front of Scully, then I’m extremely happy! Thank you so much for reading and for any feedback you may have left!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


End file.
